Newt’s Revenge
by Tippy.LaRoux
Summary: Revenge is a dish best served cold. Newt has no trouble avenging the horrors he has seen.


QLFC- Falcons- Chaser 3

Main prompt : Newt Scamander (February)

Optional:

Object- Sickle

Color- Cream

Word- barbarian

Hogwarts Challenges Assignments

Ravenclaw

Quidditch- Balls - Bludger

 _barbarian (a) - a human who is perceived to be either uncivilized or primitive._

Newt had woken up early, like always, and it was in these few early moments of the new day that he felt connected to the very essence of the earth. Walking past the small welcome sign in front of his Magizoological Rehabilitation Ranch, he ducked under the gate and headed into the paddock for his morning ritual of checking on his animals.

That morning, however, something felt off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it as he walked toward the barn, but there was definitely something awry. The gate was locked, and the hippogriff with a sprained wing was sleeping peacefully in the paddock. He arrived that week, and was allowed out of the barns for the first time the day before. So, what was this niggling suspicion scratching at the back of his brain?

Then, it hit him. It was too quiet. His favorite time of day had always been the brief expanse of a moment when it was no longer night, but not quite yet dawn. It was a time when the nocturnal beasts had begun making their way to their dens, but the diurnal animals hadn't quite left their own shelter. Where were the sounds of the world rising?

Running through the fields of his sanctuary, he almost missed the barn doors that were standing open. That was odd; he remembered locking them the night before. Stepping over the threshold, he walked past the stalls that were empty, ready for any creature that needed help. Each step brought him closer to the back of the barn, further into darkness, the smell of hay slowly being overpowered by something metallic he couldn't quite place.

" _Lumos_ ," he whispered, his wand gripped tightly in front of him. As his senses heightened, the out of place smell became more apparent and he finally recognized it. It smelled like silver sickles. Neither comforted, nor more alarmed than he already was, Newt continued on, pushing open the last stall on the left.

The sight in front of him was one borne from his worst nightmares. Ingrid and Gideon, the unicorns he rescued from a magical petting zoo in Czechoslovakia earlier that year, laid in a heap in the corner. Their luminescent coat dulled to a dull cream color, and their tails had been cut to the bone. Mercurial blood splattered the hay under his feet as he walked further into the stall.

His vision blurred and his eyes burned; his breath was frozen in his chest. After he looked quickly around the stall and found it empty, he ran to the beloved pair. Using his wand, he cast multiple spells, but it was on no use. He was too late; the innocent creatures had perished sometime during the night. Looking at them, curled around each other, he took stock of the carnage before him. Blood had been spilled, their mane and tails had been cut and they were both missing their beautiful horns.

Eventually the tears stopped coming, and apologies stopped falling from his lips. Needing an outlet, he stalked from the barn, pulled a shovel from the tool rack, and walked to a quiet spot near the edge of the meadow. After deciding on the Muggle way, Newt began digging. It took hours, but with each shovelful of the warm earth he moved, a little bit of the sadness left his body. With each moment of sadness that escaped, it was quickly replaced by blinding hatred, then rage.

Exhausted from the efforts of the burial, Newt nearly tripped over a little golden lump at the edge of the field. Wiping angrily at the tears still streaming silently down his cheeks, he crept closer to the tiny bundle of shivering anxiousness.

"Hello, sweet thing," he whispered in the soothing tones that came unbidden whenever approaching a new creature. "Look at you. Your mummy made sure you were safe; didn't she?" Newborn foals were often left in the open during the day for safety. Newt took the worn coat he'd been carrying back to the cabin, and laid it over the little unicorn that could easily fit in his lap. The baby looked up at him with baleful eyes reminding him of newly minted sickles. The thought of that silver coin, brought the events of the day back to the forefront of his mind, and he choked back the sobs that wanted to break free again.

"You must only be a few days old, if you were left out here." Still speaking in the soothing tones that came so naturally to him, he began slowly brushing fingers softly over its back where his jacket covered. Each stroke moving further up to the animals neck. "You aren't fast enough to run from danger, are you? So your mother left you here, so she could protect you from a distance."

The slow stroking of the Animal's neck helped Newt bring his own breathing and heartbeat under control. But a tear rolled down his face, and his voice cracked when he whispered into the warm neck of this pure creature, "But I was supposed to protect her."

Newt bundled the tiny foal into his arms, and continued walking to the cabin. He was left with one question that plagued him for years to come. What kind of a barbarian could have done something like this? And the only answer that ever came was someone who would never see him coming.

Although Newt vowed to move forward, he couldn't help but think of the stolen innocence from time to time. It would creep up at the most unusual moments. Counting change at the ice cream parlor, or seeing a witch with particularly platinum hair. Those moments stole his breath and caused a pain in his chest that could only be dulled with time.

The times he knew to expect it, when he was home with Greta, the little foal who was growing up to be a beautiful girl like her mother, were just as hard. Seeing Greta always reminded him of that terrible day, and the ones that came after, while he was figuring out how to keep a three-day-old unicorn foal alive. There were no books written on their care, and everyone he thought to owl had never heard of a unicorn being bottle-fed. There were many sleepless nights, for both the wizard and the quadruped. But they got through, if only by the sheer force of Newt unwilling to have another innocent creature's blood on his hands.

Four months had passed since that terrible day, and he was following up on a case of an illegal Firecrab fighting ring. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he had transfigured his features until he was almost unrecognizable. His hair was a muddy brown and hung lank around his face, the clothes he'd pulled on that day were old, but of decent quality. He'd planned on melting into the crowd and do some reconnaissance at the ring.

So, he was a bit taken off guard when he ran across a small stall in Knockturn Alley selling ' _Magical_ _Quicksilver_.' Newt had washed enough of it from his hands that day to know the difference between mercury, and unicorn blood. The latter had an opalescent quality that lent it an almost creamy hue.

"I have been looking for some ' _Magical_ _Quicksilver_ ' for a while. How fresh is it?" Newt asked as nonchalantly as possible, although he was seething inside.

The animal at the other side of the stall answered, without hesitation, "Oh, not exactly sure a few months maybe? Less than six I can assure you."

The man leaned in close to Newt; the stale smell of smoke and unwashed hair was choking him. "I can guarantee you, it was less than six months. I harvested it myself. Does your potion require male, or female?" He asked eagerly, clearly under the impression a sale was imminent.

It took everything in Newt's power not to curse the barbarian right then and there. Instead, he decided to forgo the Firecrabs today, and grabbed onto the grizzled hand on the counter. Turning on the spot, he sidealong Apparated them to the stall at the end of his barn. Before he could think further, Newt had ropes conjured and attached the man to the wall.

It took fourteen hours to get the confession he needed. This monster had come with a woman who was at least part Veela, to harvest magical elements from the unicorns in Newt's care. The Veela could calm and call the animals. It was orchestrated, however, by another man; he was the one who did the killing and had taken possession of the horns. The animal before him didn't ever get any names, they used code words picked up by reading Muggle Fairytales.

Unwilling to let this monster loose in the world, Newt let two words cross his lips for the first time ever. He looked over to the corner of the stall, and remembering back to that horrific day, and he meant it.

" _Avada_ _Kedavra_."

After the green jet of light flew from the tip of Newt's wand, the man in front of him went instantly limp. Newt did not require the cathartic ritual of digging a grave in the Muggle way, nor did he want a memorial of it anywhere on his property. He simply made sure every animal was out of the barn, locked the doors one last time, the whispered, " _Incendio_ ," and didn't even look back.

He garnered two important pieces of information from the conversation with the man quickly turning to ash in the barn. One: there were two other people out there who needed to be brought to justice. Two: it would be nearly impossible to find them.

While on holiday, the only one he'd allowed himself since opening the rescue center, he walked down the boardwalk in Atlantic City. Ducking into one of the many wizarding shops hidden from the Muggles, he was drawn to a case in the back. Peering in, he saw the most intricately carved wands in all shapes and sizes.

He looked up into the eyes of a witch behind the counter who nearly took his breath away. The silvery pools of her irises were meant to be swum in. Her hair, a bright platinum blonde that seemed to be lit from within, brightened the dark corner of the shop. Her scent was something akin to lavender and the air at the top of a mountain. He could spend a hundred years looking at her, and it would still not be enough.

She turned away when another patron entered, and after breaking eye contact the overwhelming desire to profess his undying love washed away. He had never been that close to a full Veela before, and after shaking off the drunken haze, he turned back to the wand case.

These were more like ritualistic wands, or those ones that people would buy just for looks. They had all been inscribed with many different ancient runes, and were encrusted with precious metals and jewels from across the world. Oddly, they all seemed to call to him. It was almost a familial bond that he could not ignore.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Newt asked the woman behind the counter. He had erected as many barriers in his mind as he could before contacting her. There was something about this that seemed wrong. Unlike at Ollivanders, where the wand chooses the wizard, it seemed as though every wand in the case was choosing Newt.

"Yes, how may I help you, sir? Are you looking for something in particular? We have many options here for you to try." She leaded toward him; clearly someone knew what they were doing, putting this Veela behind the counter selling extremely expensive wands. How many men walked out owning a wand they never knew they needed?

"Can you tell me about the wands? They are very beautiful. I don't know how I'd even narrow it down to one." The young woman sized him up. Taking in the cut of his clothes that would have been considered fashionable and of fine quality years ago. But, after putting everything he had into his reserve, left little to update his wardrobe on a regular basis. The witch pulled out an exquisite wand, though by the standards of the ones surrounding, it was rather plain.

"This one is 10- 3/4" American Walnut, with a very rare core. The unicorn hair used is actually from a mated pair that has been braided together to increase the magical nature." Newt's hand shook as he held it out to take the wand from the witch. Taking a breath, a shock went up his arm when he touched the smooth wood.

"These runes, what are they? They look familiar." The witch leaned over to Newt, fingering the engraved ancient words.

"All around the handle are the names of the unicorns. There is so much power in a name, is there not? This particular wand was made to increase the powers of that." Newt was afraid to look down. He was afraid to take a closer look. He didn't want to see what he knew he would see: Gideon and Ingrid written in at least ten different ancient languages. His heart jumped to his throat, and he didn't trust his voice, but needed to know more.

"How do I know the unicorns were a mated pair?" His eyes shone and he hoped she thought it was with excitement. It was not, he was barely hanging on by a thread, waiting, hoping, but not sure what for.

"Well, because I am the wandmaker. I harvested the hair myself. The pair were beautiful, I found them wandering in a field and after asking permission from their owners, I was allowed to collect enough to make fifteen wands. As you see, there are not many left, so, if you are interested, I would suggest making an offer."

Forcing air from his chest, he placed the wand down on the counter. Letting the wandmaker know he was perfectly happy with his current wand, but he would certainly consider this, he left.

Later that night, the wandmaker didn't see the man hiding in the shadows outside the shop as she locked up. She also didn't feel the small prick as he pressed a small bit of Acromantula venom into her arm when he brushed by her. Her family could dig her grave. Newt didn't need to stand around and watch her take her last breath. The authorities would also never think to check for Acromantula poison since they were not native to the Americas. Newt left happier than when he arrived, and not just because of the fresh air.

Under the tender care of Newt, Greta had steadily grown from the quivering golden lump he found, to the beautiful filly in front of him. Running the brush down her mane he marveled at how the gold from her early days had faded slowly been replaced by a warm cream color. When she was out in the sun, he could see the first glimpse of the pure iridescent white she will be when fully grown. Her horn, as unique as a fingerprint, twisted clockwise up from her fringe morphing from gold, to cream, to pure white. There was an opalescent sheen, and it was veined in the palest pink.

He had reached out to Dumbledore earlier that year, and requested a meeting with the gamekeeper, Mulciber, to discuss inviting Greta into the unicorn herd in the Forbidden Forest. She was perfectly healthy after all, and could use a family that was more like her. It was not anything Newt wanted to think about, but he knew it was time to allow her to go out into a world she belonged in.

The meeting went well;they had agreed that Newt would bring Greta to meet one-on-one with the matriarch of the herd. They wanted to make sure that not only would Greta mesh with herd, but also that all the unicorns would accept her as one of their own. If the meeting went well the following day, they would move forward with the integration.

Newt was hoping she wouldn't have to be an orphan any longer, that she could have a proper family. But, only if it worked for all animals involved. Newt was getting ready to leave, happy to finally be able to give Greta the life she deserved when something unexpected caught his eye.

Grabbing the Floo power from the mantle on his way out, Newt noticed something way in the background, tucked away behind candlesticks and other pureblood bric-a-brac, stood a unicorn horn. He recognized a flaw in it, and much like the time he ran across the blood, and the wands, he knew something was not right. The small chip taken out of the top, with the golden core showing through was something he had seen many times. Ingrid had gotten that while fighting back against Newt when she first came to the reserve, before she trusted him.

Looking closer, he saw a small plaque on the bottom of the base, ' _RIP Crystal, Hogwarts oldest known Unicorn_.'

"Ah, you like that, do you? It's just another perk of the job here. Found that one after a fierce storm blew through. Poor thing wasn't fast enough, and was struck by a fallen tree." Newt could not believe his ears. This was the man who orchestrated the entire thing? He was the one who snuffed the life from a pair of beautiful creatures?

The ropes flew from his wand, and within seconds Mulciber was lashed to the chair he had been sitting in. Without a word, Newt flew from the gamekeeper's hut in a flurry of desperation and rage. He needed to get to the forest. The centaurs owed him a favor for saving a colt's life a year earlier. It was time to collect and have vengeance at last.


End file.
